Page 8 of The Biker's Sweet Young Neighbor

“It’s tempting for men like us to feel a need to decide for others what’s best for them,” Guardian says. “We’re the decision makers, the protectors, the providers. We tend to believe that everything falls on us, but at the end of the day, Megan is an adult and she can decide for herself what she does and doesn’t want in life.” That statement hits me hard as well.

“That being said,” he continues, looking straight at me. “So can you, and for your sake, Megan’s sake, and Gillian’s sake, you need to figure out what exactly you want and stop pussyfooting around it. If you want a life with Megan, you can make that happen. If you don’t, do the honorable thing and tell her now before you do irreparable damage to her.”

The conversation turns to other things, but Guardian’s words stay with me the rest of the evening and as Megan drifts to sleep with her head on my chest and a smile on her face, I lay awake and pray to any god who might be listening to give me the strength to know what to do.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Megan

I smile brightly and say in a high-pitched voice, “Here comes the airplane. Ah-woo-woo-woo-woo, yay!”

Gilly grins and giggles, spraying the creamed squash all over me. I close my eyes and grimace and Gilly laughs even harder, slapping her hands on the highchair and beaming at me with her chubby little cheeks.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, girl,” I say, “If another girl spits on me like that, I’d be throwing hands.”

Gilly chuckles and I grab her hands in mine and mimic throwing punches. “That’s right. I’d hit them like that. And that. And that.”

Gilly giggles with each fist and soon I am giggling too, and mealtime is forgotten as we play with each other.

Chip is at a meeting today. The club has been meeting a lot over the past few months. I don’t ask but based on how stressed and distracted he seems whenever he comes home lately, I’m guessing that there’s something serious going on.

I try not to let that bother me. I mean, I knew what I was getting into. It’s not fair of me to judge him for being exactly what I knew he was the entire time.

I’m not really judging him. I know he’s a good man and if I found out something terrible about him, like he killed someone or something, I would believe without a doubt that there was a perfectly good reason for that action.

Still, it’s not just about him and as much as I love my relationship with him, it’s not just about me either. It’s about the little girl in front of me who won’t be a baby forever and will eventually wonder why her daddy wears a skull on his helmet and rides his motorcycle with all of those scary-looking men.

The girl in question burbles at me as she takes the spoon from my hand and does her absolute best to feed herself. At seven months old, she’s not at all coordinated and the food once more ends up all over me and the highchair, but I smile and say, “Wow, what a big girl you are!” anyway.

After dinner, I read a picture book to Gilly, then bathe her, then feed her one more time before putting her to bed. As I stare down at her tiny little form, I realize three things simultaneously: first, I realize that I love that little girl. She is precious and beautiful and wonderful and though I didn’t carry her, she is as much my daughter as though she came from my own womb.

Second, I realize that I love Chip. I suppose I fall in love with him the first day I help with Gilly when the big, scary biker is so vulnerable and awkward and lost and so desperate that his daughter should be well-provided for, even if that means admitting he doesn’t have the slightest clue how to do that.

He loves her. I know that. He loves her more than he loves himself and he will do everything in his power to give her a good life. I believe that as surely as I believe he will never hurt me or treat me with anything other than respect no matter what happens between us.

That doesn’t mean he’s right for me and it doesn’t mean he’ll be a good father for Gilly.

That’s a horrible thing to say.

Of course, he’ll be a good father to her. What I mean is, as she gets older it will be harder for him to protect her from the other side of his life.

It’s easy to protect me from that side. I’m an adult and I’m very aware of the parts of Chip’s life I want to be involved in and the parts I don’t want to be involved in. I can choose not to associate with those parts and understand that choosing to stay away from the club side doesn’t mean that I have to avoid contact with him entirely.

It’s not so easy to protect Gilly from that side. I mean, it’s easy now, but it won’t be easy when she’s older and starts asking questions. We can only get away with, “That’s nothing for you to worry about,” for so long.

And what happens when she does find out? She will eventually. I know that as surely as I know that Chip will be utterly devastated if she ever becomes a part of that lifestyle. He might not be ashamed of who he is, but that doesn’t mean he wants his daughter to become a sweetbutt or old lady to one of his criminal friends.

Am I really right to think that way, though? I mean, Chip’s a good man. I have no illusions about the nature of his activities with the club, but I don’t think of him as a criminal, do I?

That’s the third realization I have and the one I really struggle with. That third realization is that as much as I love Chip, if it comes down to choosing between a relationship with him and protecting the little girl sleeping in the next room by any means necessary, I’ll protect her.

Even if that means losing him.

The door opens and Chip walks in. He smiles at me and says, “Thank you, Megan. I’m sorry I was late again.”

I return his smile and stand to kiss him in greeting. “No problem, honey. There’s dinner in the fridge for you and a fresh six-pack.”

“You bought me a beer?” he says, “You are the perfect woman.”

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